Where were you?
by Antigone5
Summary: The life and troubled times of Rufus Shinra, heir to the Shinra Empire - a life tragically cut short, but what was he really thinking? New chapter coming soon! Future Tseng/Rufus. R&R, s'il vous plait!


Later, it became a talking point, a topic of conversation. 

"Where were you when you heard the President was assassinated?"

These conversations were only held in whispers around the Shinra building, around the upper plate, around 'good society'. But they were held none the less, and heard by all. An event this unexpected and violent was bound to cause dinner party discussion in Midgar, after all. And although no one ever asked Rufus of his whereabouts, he still had an answer to the question, to state calmly after he shot the person who asked him. And this brief moment of time remained in his memory, for the only reason that he wasn't where he had been supposed to be.

Junon City. The place was his second - well, really his only home. It even reminded him a little of Midgar, with it's upper and lower zones, although on a much smaller scale. The golden people lived at the top while the scum sank to the bottom. And this was tolerable, for the time being.

It was early evening, barely turned 5 o'clock. A bar in downtown Junon. Normally, the Vice-president would have worked until at least 11, but the phonecall he had received a scant twenty minutes earlier had sent him out of his office in search of a drink. A large one.

"Rufus, honey?" she had sounded flustered.

He had known something was wrong. She never called him 'honey'. Hell, she never _called_.

"Mother."

"Hi, honey, ah...I've got something to tell you." There was a pause as she dragged on a cigarette. "It's about your father and I."

"...Yes?" He could picture her as she must have looked - fine brows drawn together, eyes closed tightly, one hand raking the light brown hair from her face...

"We're getting a divorce."

He couldn't respond for almost half a minute.

"Rufus? Are you there?"

"Why? How? What happened?" He knew he had sounded shocked, desperate, like a child, and he hated himself for it as soon as the words left his mouth.

"Your father...has some habits I can't quite deal with."

Would she tell him? Would she want her son to know the sordid details? Of course she would. Love was a weapon with his mother.

"I suppose," she sniffed "You are familiar with an establishment called the Honeybee Inn?"

Of course he was. In fact, that was where... He blushed pink to the roots of his hair, then paled just as quickly. His father...habits...Honeybee Inn. That man had always disgusted him, with his obesity and weakness, but this was too much.

"Mother, I have to go... Don't call me again." This time he modulated his voice perfectly. Cold and precise. He carefully placed the phone in it's cradle, ignoring the imploring voice coming from it.

"Rufus, honey, don't hang up, I want to-"

He tugged the cord out of the wall as an afterthought, then left the building as quickly as possible.

And that brought him to _that_ point once more. He was drinking alone, as he always did, no stranger to this bar, trying hopelessly to forget the image of his father - austere, authoritative, anywhere near the Honeybee Inn. It was his third - fourth? - drink, and the other patrons of the bar were keeping a wide berth. Rufus Shinra in a bad mood was not one to mess with.

And then...then a man rushed into the bar. 

"The President's dead!" he shouted breathlessly. "The radio just-" his mouth shut with an audible snap as he saw the tall blond seated at the end of the bar, hunched over a drink.

The President's dead.

It didn't mean much to Rufus at the time.

Very slowly, he got up from the bar, leaving his half-full glass where it sat. Refusing to meet anyone's eyes, he calmly walked out of the bar.

As soon as he was clear of the building, he pulled his cellphone from his pocket. He flicked his hair out of his eyes as he watched the sun slowly turn the sky red.

"Send me a helicopter." he said flatly. "And bring Dark Nation."

That had been the worst...no, second worst flight of his life. The body of the helicopter was empty save his panther, who stalked the confined quarters savagely, picking up with her cat's instinct her master's turbulent emotions.

Rufus allowed the beast to nudge her head against his hand gently, although he remained motionless. He was too busy trying to keep his mind blank after the double shock it had received that day. The last thing he wanted was to get hysterical in front of the pilot.

A glance out the tinted window revealed that they were crossing the mountain range and were about to arrive at Midgar. 

_What am I going to find here?_ He thought. _Sephiroth waiting to kill me too?_ _A company that's now mine waiting for guidance? I knew this day would always come..._

"...But not that it'd be so soon." he muttered.

"What was that, sir?" the pilot half turned towards Rufus, but kept his eyes on the flight path.

"I said nothing to you, fool." the new President said glacially.

"But..."

"I pay you to fly, not to speculate."

The pilot was silent, but the helicopter suddenly bucked, sending Rufus flying to the other side of the cabin.

"Sorry sir," chirped the pilot, "We get an awful updraught coming over these mountains."

Rufus narrowed his eyes in rage, making a mental note to make an example of this pilot as soon as he had taken care of business at Shinra HQ. No grudge was never forgotten, no slight ever left unrevenged.

No matter _what_ happened.

They had landed on the top floor of the ShinRa building, just in time to see Palmer running out of the door to meet him. The man could barely speak.

"Sephiroth..." he wheezed hysterically. "I saw him! He's killed everyone...on the last... three floors..."

"My father?"

"Yes...eep!" he scuttled away.

Rufus couldn't move for a second, feeling both elation and ...pain. He was President, something he had spent his entire life in anticipation of, but his whole family, disintegrated ...in a day? He heard the door open again, and turned, to see an odd assortment of people emerging through it.

"It may just be me, 'Nation," he murmured to his pet, cynically, "But I don't think this looks like the welcoming committee.

He remembered the contemptuous smirk he had forced onto his face as he walked slowly towards them - appearance was everything, after all, and it wouldn't do to be seen as weak in his pivotal moment of assuming the Presidency. Through the glass he could see a slumped form, with what was undoubtedly a sword protruding from his back, and repressed a shudder.

He challenged the group - To strike fear into the hearts of all he had to start with a few. He would find the Promised Land. He would be strong where his father had been weak. He would succeed where his father had failed. He would make ShinRa great.

It was perhaps the first time that one of his speeches had not been listened to with either adoration, respect or even interest.

It was definitely the first time he had ever been defeated.

He remembered every blow, no matter how hard he tried to forget. And when Dark Nation was killed, he shoved the ache to the back of his mind, always remembering how the panther's last act was to protect him. And he remembered his parting words to them.  
"Heh...that's all for today." he'd rasped, his voice strained with agony.

Finally, almost ready to pass out, he grasped the runner of the company helicopter with one hand as it flew away, somehow even managing to haul himself up into it.

He slumped into the synthetic leather seat, breathing heavily. Seeking reassurance, he stretched out his hand, feeling for the warm dark fur of his 'Nation. When his fingers met only empty air, he buried his face in his hands.

"Sir."

Rufus jumped as if hit by an electric current. A man had leaned towards him, out of the shadows of the confined cabin.

"Who are you?" his hand reached for the shotgun under his coat convulsively, his heart racing.

"Tseng." the dark-haired man inclined his head respectfully. "Head of the Manufacturing Department for Administrative Research."

Rufus blinked rapidly.

"The _what_?" he finally asked.

"Known as the Turks." the man's voice was carefully neutral, sounding like lustrous silk.

The words hung in the air for a moment before Rufus sneered.

"My father's hired dogs. Looking for a new master?"

Then something Rufus had not been expecting happened; Tseng smiled. It was a completely disarming smile, reassuring and sympathetic and above all, understanding. Rufus snarled. He didn't want pity! He wanted revenge, an outlet for his anger.

"What," he asked, "Are you smiling at?" his voice trembled with rage.

Tseng's dark eyes broke contact.

"You. You've grown up since I saw you last..."

Rufus had been furious, unable to comprehend what was being said.

"Do you know what I have been through-" he stopped abruptly as his vision doubled, and gripped the seat to keep his balance. 

Tseng was once again all business, his eyebrows drawing together in concern ever so slightly.

"We should see to your injuries, sir."

Rufus nodded his acquiescence and leaned back, uncomfortably, turning his head away in disdain and discomfort, as the raven-haired man leaned forward and carefully peeled back his blood-stained white jacket.

Rufus glanced down, inadvertently, his gaze drawn by the Turk, and immediately regretted it. How could he look like that, and still be alive?

Just then, Tseng had softly touched one of the wounds that patterned his body, and the last memory he had before passing out, was a pair of dark eyes, and a whisper of raven hair.


End file.
